


Conspiracy at the Museum 2: The Second One

by orphan_account



Series: Conspiracy at the Museum [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Crack, Crack Fic, Joe is done with his shit!, M/M, Mikey is back!, Night At the Museum AU, Sequel!, again: kind of???, and everyone is still really gay, even though it's in chapter 1, haha spoiler, no I didn't rip off Sharknado for the title what do you mean, time-stopping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6856588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys are back, and they're gayer than ever. </p>
<p>It's been a year since the awesome gay cops arrested Mikey for kidnapping, three super gay couples got together, and Pete decided it could only go up from here. </p>
<p>Now Pete and Patrick are married, all their friends are engaged, and Patrick has gotten a job as the curator of the Chicago Wax Museum. Life is great. </p>
<p>But then, because he's fucking cliche like that, Mikey decides that exactly a year after his arrest is a great time to strike back, and strike back hard. </p>
<p>Ft. everyone being gay, Joe being done with Mikey's cliche shit, Mikey's cliche shit, more gay, and time-defying pizza.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conspiracy at the Museum 2: The Second One

**Author's Note:**

> I DID IT
> 
> I STARTED THE SEQUEL (even if chapter one is super short)
> 
> ARE YOU ALL HAPPY
> 
> Hey hey hey if you haven't read the first story you really should this will make absolutely zero sense without it. 
> 
> Now that you've done that...
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Yes. The title is a Sharknado ripoff. We're composing a theme for Sharknado in band right now. It's on my mind. Shut up.)

_"You've got it?" The man hisses, looking up at his two assistants through the thick metal bars of his jail cell._

_"We wouldn't have knocked out all the police guards to break into a maximum security prison and see you if we didn't." The one with curly hair says pointedly, standing stoically with his hands clasped behind his back. Wait, no. They both have curly hair. The taller one, then._

_"Hand it over." The man commands, holding out a single hand._

_The other assistant huffs and hands over the object he's been hiding under his jacket, passing it through the cell bars. It's a small watch with a plastic-looking azure gem attached in the center of the face. There are nondescript markings, but it has no hands. "Seriously, man. Didn't you say this whole thing was experimental? It's probably a bad idea."_

_"No, it's a perfect idea." The man rolls his eyes. "C'mon, look! It's been a year, and I kind of want to be a cliche villain! Exactly one year later, while they celebrate, we ruin it! It's perfect."_

_"Everything you do is cliche." The shorter assistant points out. The taller one elbows him and gives him a warning look._

_"You stole the cell keys?" The man asks, glaring pointedly at the shorter one._

_"Yes." The taller assistant says, passing those through the bars as well. "I'm assuming you'll let yourself out?"_

_"Of course." The man grins, rubbing his hands together. "And you've got your gems, I assume?"_

_Each assistant pushes away his mess of hair to reveal a single purple earring._

_"Good, good, so you'll be safe." The man nods. "And, of course, so will those idiots."_

_"I think calling your brother an idiot is a bit extreme." The shorter assistant says, leaning back on the balls of his feet._

_"He's not biological." The man hisses. "And you'd better shut your mouth, Trohman, or you'll lose your job. And-"_

_"And my life. I get it." The assistant rolls his eyes. He's obviously heard this a thousand times before. Maybe he should have learned from it. Maybe he did._

_The man shoos them away, and the keys jingle in his hand. "Now go. And if you find them, bring them to me."_

_"Yes, sir." The taller assistant nods, looking ready to salute, too, if necessary._

_"What the fuck ever." The other one mutters, turning and immediately leaving. His partner follows him._

_The man grins and then speaks to no one in particular._

_"I'm coming, boys."_

~*~

"Holy shit, Patrick, slow down!" 

Pete is out of breath trying to chase him down. Like, seriously. How can anyone be that athletic? Is it physically possible? Apparently. 

Patrick stops and turns to him, grinning. "You're acting like an old man, wow."

"Technically." Pete begins, managing to catch up to him, but still out of breath. " _Technically_ you're older than me. By a lot. Technically." 

"Hm." Patrick just smiles wider (is that even possible at this point?) and takes Pete's hand in his. "That seems kind of mean."

"You're only saying that because you know I'm right." Pete rolls his eyes. 

They continue to walk down the street. It's a windy day, but the sun is out. Hey, this is Chicago. That's, like, every day. They're heading to meet up with their friends, because it's the first anniversary of what they're calling We Technically Saved The World, Probably Day. (Brendon wanted to call it A Bunch Of Gay People Got Together Day, but that was vetoed. Mostly by Ryan.) They're going to spend it at a nice pizza place downtown, and, as usual, Pete and Patrick are already late. 

Some guy does a double take at Patrick as they walk past. They get that a lot, but it never seems to matter. Tons of people would say "wow, you look like this one singer...", but no one would ever really connect the dots. 

Patrick is humming an unknown melody under his breath, and there's a cheerful skip in his step. There usually is these days.

Still, Pete has an ominous feeling about today. He isn't sure why. Nothing has gone wrong so far, and the weather doesn't even look bad. And yet, he just...does. 

And then he feels it. A feeling like cold water trickling down his body, stopping at the top of his head. It's weird. He turns to Patrick. "Wait, hey. Do you feel that?"

Patrick nods, frowning. "Yeah...huh. Weird."

Then they almost run into someone. 

"Oh, dude, sorry, I-" Pete takes one look at the man and then freezes. "Wait, _what_?"

The man in front of them is frozen. Literally. He's on his phone, with his mouth open, hanging on a never-spoken syllable, one leg in the air; the middle of a walking cycle. But the thing is, he _isn't moving_. 

"What the actual fuck." Pete whispers. He reaches out and pokes the man. He feels warm and alive, just...unmoving. 

"Uh, Pete?" Patrick says, startling him from his trancelike fascination. "I think _everyone_ is frozen."

Pete looks around, and his eyes widen. Patrick isn't lying. All around them, people are stuck in place. The strong wind is no longer blowing. Birds and floating leaves are held still in midair. 

"Holy shit." Pete says, gaping. 

"Okay, please tell me this is just a weird thing that happens normally in the 21st century." Patrick whispers, clinging to Pete and staring around him. It's normal for him to ask things like that, even a year later. But this is different. 

"Nope." Pete shakes his head. "I wish. Actually, I don't wish that. That'd be weird. It _is_ weird." He stops when he realizes that he's almost rambling. 

"Oh god." Patrick mutters. 

Everything is silent, because no one except for them is moving. It's eerie. Even steam and exhaust fumes are frozen in midair in little puffs and clouds. Nothing seems alive. The city looks and feels dead. 

"How could this have happened?" Pete asks, still staring at every little new thing he sees frozen in place. 

As soon as the words are past his lips, he realizes exactly how. He turns to Patrick, eyes wide, and he knows Patrick is thinking exactly the same thing he is. 

" _Mikey_." They both whisper, gripping each other for dear life. Whether it was out of fear or simple need for someone else who was living in this frozen wasteland, it wasn't clear. 

~*~

_The man laughs as he steps out through his open jail cell door._

_"Oh, boys. Let the games begin."_


End file.
